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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792192">skip tracer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandadoration/pseuds/mandadoration'>mandadoration</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bounty AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bounty AU, Din Djarin is a bounty and you are the Mandalorian, F/M, Gen, I dont know how ships works, Reader is ambiguous, Reader is gender neutral, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing, i decided to make it multi chaptered instead of a series, if you think ur hallucinating bc you saw this a week or so ago dont worry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandadoration/pseuds/mandadoration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Din Djarin is a mercenary hell-bent on trying to wipe out the remaining Imperials. You, the infamous Mandalorian, have been tasked with bringing him in. It shouldn't be a challenge for you, but Din has a way of worming himself in into your life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bounty AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Requested on tumblr: "anon asked: “ummmm can we get back to mando!reader and bounty!din because idk maybe the ship breaks down and you’re stuck together until someone comes and gets you and the two of you grow close and he tries to you almost let him take your helmet off”"<br/>“Mando”, in this fic, is referring to the reader. There’s a bunch of small time skips (moments later to several hours) because I’m sure you would appreciate it all at once instead of multiple chapters, but also for my sanity. </p><p>Another important note the Din is younger than he is in the series, just because there are a lot of really important things that happen in the canon that I don’t want to just… skip over? (Baby Yoda, Moff Gideon, etc.) I haven’t decided on a particular age, but it’s not too drastic.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You, the infamous Mandalorian, have been tasked with bringing Din Djarin, a mercenary hell-bent on trying to wipe out the remaining Imperials. Unfortunately, your ship breaks down in the middle of space and runs low of power, and you're stuck with him until someone comes by to help you. Maker knows how long that will take.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first words you say to Din Djarin are, “Shit.” </p><p>If it weren’t for the fact that you were trying to get the ship’s repulsors back online, you would’ve seen how his eyebrows shoot up, disappearing under the mess of greasy curls at your expletive. He leans forward in his seat a little, cuffs clanking as he tries to peer over your beskar-clad shoulder at the console beeping angrily at you. There’s a fuel leak or wiring problem or something because you’re watching the power drain rapidly right in front of your eyes. You try to stop whatever the massive drain is or turn off non-essentials and reroute the power to your engine, but nothing works and all that does happen is a massive shuddering throughout the entire ship. Your ancient, pre-Imperial gunship, the <em>Skip Tracer</em>, sputters and soon, the entire ship goes dark. </p><p>The second words you say to Din Djarin are, “Fuck.” </p><p>Luckily, the backup generators kick in, bathing the entire ship in low, orange light and making sure you don’t suffocate to death in the cold recesses of space. You sit there for a moment, staring blankly out the windows of your ship at the stars in the distance, and realize that you’re essentially stuck here unless a stray ship flies by and takes pity on you. </p><p>Yeah, like would happen. </p><p>Your bounty’s dry voice interrupts your internal monologue. “This happen often?” he asks. His voice is much too close for your tastes, so you stand up abruptly and push him back into your seat, scowling under your helmet at his smug face. He doesn’t look fazed at your harsh treatment, and his gaze follows you as head over to the mainframe to run a diagnostics check. “All I’m saying is, why do you fly this piece of junk when you’re the fabled ‘Mandalorian’?” Din continues, making air quotes to the best of his ability with his hands bound. His tone is disdainful. “Maker knows those Imps pay you enough…” Your hand hovers over the screen.</p><p>“I don’t work for them,” you say stiffly. </p><p>“But you do business with them,” Din points out. You press a few buttons with more force than necessary and turn back to face him while your system runs a full ship scan. He’s sitting languidly in his seat, as if he owns the place, and stares straight at you. If he’s surprised you’re finally entertaining his small talk, he doesn’t show it. “You’re bringing me in, aren’t you?” You tilt your head as you consider the implication of his question. </p><p>“It doesn’t matter who called you in. I’m just--”</p><p>“--doing your job,” Din finishes. A bored look flits across his face and smothers the hard set lines of his face as he motions around the <em>Skip Tracer</em>. “You can hardly do that if your ship doesn’t work now, hm?” You roll your eyes and resist the urge to gag him. The mainframe beeps behind you to indicate that the scan was done. You give him the best warning glare you can with a helmet over your head, and turn back to read the report. </p><p>The hyperdrive had drained a massive amount of power from your ship during your last jump, resulting in it overheating and affecting the surrounding parts as your coolants worked overtime to try and get it under control, but you don’t remember the last time you had taken a look at that particular mechanism, meaning that there was only more overheating and possible melting and fraying of the internal wiring. As your ship tried its best to repair what it could, it had only drained the remainder of the power. You didn’t have any spare jumper cells either. </p><p>In summary: not good. </p><p>You heave out an annoyed sigh before plopping back in your seat and trying to get your comms working. It takes some time, and you end up having to pull the heating down a little to even turn them on. The best you can do is send a weak, short-range emergency call. </p><p>“What now?” Din asks. Despite him trying to appear standoffish and generally seem like a prick, you can pick out the uncertainty in his voice. No one in the galaxy wants to be stuck in the cold recesses space, especially with an unsavory companion. You settle in your seat and swivel your chair to face him. </p><p>“Now we wait.”</p><p>--</p><p>At some point you had fallen asleep in your chair while you were patiently watching your bounty, but you peel open your eyes when you hear a quiet shuffling of clothes and the quiet thump of heavy boots. A quick glance at the time shows that nearly an hour has passed since the ship lost power. </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Din nearly jumps out of his skin, halfway to the door with wide eyes and a hand raised towards the controls. You haven’t noticed until now, but without his weapons, Din really looks like any other human you might see in the galaxy. His cinnegar weave armor has been dyed a dark brown and covered with a jacket to be more discreet, and the tan collar of his shirt peeks out of his scarf. He hardly looks like he’s worth the price on his head. </p><p>You don’t do anything, merely watching how his throat bobs when he tries to think of something to say. He smoothly slides on a mask of indifference that almost impresses you as he straightens up. “Looking around,” he answers. In the dim lighting, you can barely pick up how his ears turn red at the tips. </p><p>“Mhm,” you hum, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. You fix him with a hard stare. “I’ll ask you again, and don’t even think about lying: What are you doing?” An almost pained expression crosses Din’s face before disappearing again. A moment. He mumbles something. “What?” Din looks annoyed. Then a little louder, he mumbles--</p><p>“I need to use the refresher.” Immediately, his stomach grumbles. “And I’m hungry,” he sighs. You’re glad he can’t see the amused expression under your helm because you’re sure he would’ve said something snarky about it. </p><p>“What were you going to do about that?” Sure, you might be riling up Din, but with the undetermined amount of time you were going to stay with him, you might as well get some entertainment. </p><p>“I was going to leave.”</p><p>“Doors are locked.”</p><p>“I would’ve found a way.”</p><p>“You don’t know where the food is stashed. Or if I even have any.”</p><p>“Would’ve looked. I would assume you eat as well.”</p><p>“Did you expect me to stay asleep?”</p><p>“Didn’t hurt to try.”</p><p>“How do I know you wouldn’t have tried to find a weapon to kill me?”</p><p>“You don’t.”</p><p>He says his last answer so smoothly and without hesitation that it catches you so off-guard you can’t help the short laugh that escapes you. You shake your head as you stand up, and although Din leans away, you press a button on your vambrace and the door wooshes open. You motion for him to go. “Bounties first.” Din rolls his eyes and turns to head down the ladder. It’s awkward with his hands bound, but he makes it in due time and watches you warily as you climb down as well. “I’ll make something for us to eat. Use the ‘fresher in the meantime.” He raises a brow, but an easy smile graces his lips. </p><p>“I’m surprised you’re even offering me food,” he snorts. You shrug. </p><p>“Don’t know how long we’ll be out here. You’re worth more money alive,” you reason. “Can’t have you starving.” At the mention of what he’s actually here for, Din’s face falls. He clears his throat. </p><p>“Right,” he says. And turns into the cramped refresher and closes the door without saying anything else. While he does that, you dig through your compartments for rations. Without adequate power, you can’t reheat your food, and you don’t want to risk trying to reroute power in case the air recycler cuts off. Hopefully, Din likes shredded bantha meat and Meilroonian pepper sauce. You shake your head. Not that it should matter. He should be grateful you’re feeding him at all. Whether or not he’s picky bears to significance to you. </p><p>As you contemplate how he still will undoubtedly complain about the lack of choices, a loud racket sounds from the refresher followed by a loud swear. You toss the ration packets onto a nearby table and huff as you rip open the door to the refresher. Din lets out a loud sound of protest at that, trying to scramble to pull his pants back up over his hips, but steps on a stray bottle in his panic and starts tipping backwards. You grab the collar of his shirt to prevent him from cracking his head on the rim of the vactube. He stares at you with wide eyes before clearing his throat. </p><p>“You ever hear of knocking?” he asks. You haul him up to his feet, but don’t step back as you look at the mess he made in your refresher. A couple of things that were on your sink and shelves, admitted haphazardly, were knocked over and the sonic shower door was open. From how close you are, you can tell Din is struggling to find your eyes, gaze roaming over your face to try and pinpoint them. </p><p>“You ever hear of not making a mess?” you shoot back. </p><p>“Hard to do that when your hands are bound,” Din says, shaking his cuffs for emphasis. </p><p>“Could’ve asked.”</p><p>“Would you have?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then why’d you-- Nevermind.” Din breaks his gaze from you to stare at his shoes. You tilt your helmet, but press a button on your vambraces and the cuffs fall off. His head shoots up with a questioning look.</p><p>“I imagine you were going to complain about eating with your hands bound, too,” you say dryly. You step away from him and pick up the cuffs. “Clean up your mess,” you order him. Din doesn’t look happy, but eventually nods. “And pull up your pants.”</p><p>He definitely doesn’t look happy at that. </p><p>---</p><p>You had retreated into the cockpit to eat your meal with a warning to Din that you will not hesitate to kill him if he tried anything while he was unsupervised; you had left before he can hit you with another sarcastic comment. You made quick work of eating, keeping an ear out for any suspicious sounds, but found none and soon went back down to the hull only to see Din Djarin sitting on the floor and picking at his food with a displeased face. “This is disgusting,” he announces. </p><p>“How did I know you were going to say that?” you sigh. You wish you could run a hand over your face, but resort to leaning against the wall with your arms crossed. It was pretty gross, you won’t lie. The sauce was a cold, congealed mess, and the bantha meat was horribly tough. “It’s that or nothing.” He looks like he desperately wants to say something, but eventually spoons another bite into his mouth. </p><p>“Any updates?” he asks. You shake your head. </p><p>“No. Was going to check if I can somehow figure out what was draining the power. See if that fixes the problem,” you say. He makes a small hum of acknowledgement. Then, a pensive expression crosses his face. Din chews thoughtfully for a moment. </p><p>“Mando?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Is it true that Mandalorians can’t take off their helmets?” he asks.</p><p>“We can. Just not in front of other people,” you answer almost automatically. It’s a question you often get. </p><p>“How much are you getting paid to bring me in?” You look at him. Not the smoothest segway in the galaxy.</p><p>“I don’t bargain with bounties, if that’s you’re wondering,” you say instead. Din curls his lips and pushes the food around with his fork. </p><p>“Wasn’t going to bargain,” he mumbles, “just wondering.” He stabs his food aggressively. The  frown sours his face. “Wouldn’t expect an Imperial sympathizer to bargain anyways,” he says bitterly. You clench your fists, the leather of your gloves creaking, as you stand up straight. Din doesn’t look up from his food, but you can tell he knows that your temper is rising from how he grips his ration packet a little tighter. </p><p>“Told you before,” you grit out, and you’re glad the modulator hides how your voice trembles the slightest, “I’m just doing my job.” Din jumps up and throws his food down, splattering cold Meilroonian pepper sauce over the floor of the<em> Skip Tracer</em> as his eyes flash in anger.  </p><p>“And by doing so, you're just as bad as them!” he protests. He pushes his curls back with a gloved hand frustratedly. “I was doing something, trying to take them down, and you’re practically delivering me to them on a silver platter!” Din stomps up to you until you’re nearly chest to chest. From here, you can see the scars adorning his face, including one that splits his right eyebrow neatly in half. “I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be <em>good</em>,” he hisses. “But instead I see that the little <em>creed</em> you follow has changed.”</p><p>“And what do you know about Mandalorians?” you snarl at him. You move forward and force him to take a step back. “Hm? Din Djarin?” You practically spit his name. How dare he question the Way of the Mandalore. “What does a <em>mercenary</em> know about Mandalorians?” His angry expression falters, but he stays silent. “Tell me.” Nothing. His mouth is set in a hard, straight line. “All you are is a glorified rebel, thinking that you can take down a hundred people when all you are is a nuisance, a pain in their ass.” Din’s back hits the opposite wall where you’ve practically cornered him, defiance burning bright in his eyes next to a hint of fear. In the back of your mind, you know that’s not true, that Din Djarin was a hated name within the small circles of Imperials, but he seems to curl within himself when you demean him. Your shoulders fall as you force in a deep breath, and you push the heavy metal cuffs into his hands. You’ve hit a sore spot. “Clean up your mess,” you order in a low voice, the second time today, “and cuff yourself. I’m done entertaining you for the night.” </p><p>Then you head up the ladder to the cockpit. Halfway up, you look at him over your shoulder. “There’s a cot over there. Try anything and I’ll find a way to put you in carbonite.” Your threat holds well because Din Djarin doesn’t say another thing, instead scowling at you as he stays rooted in place. </p><p>---</p><p>Sleep is fitful for you that night, and it doesn’t help that you keep your helmet on just in case Din does try something. Even after all these years it’s awkward to lay down with it on. Waking up isn’t much better, seeing as you only got in a few hours, but you flush with hot anger when last night’s conversation pops up again. You instead decide to busy yourself with fiddling with the console.</p><p>You try to extend the range of the emergency signal, but nothing happens and the console beeps sadly at you. You really hope someone drifts by. Honestly, you’re not sure how many rations or how much water you have left, but you do know you certainly don’t have enough to sustain two adults for long. If it comes down to it, you’ll have to try and directly look into the mechanics of your ship. You really don’t want to do that seeing as one wrong move and you’ll be sent into the cold vacuum of space before you can think twice. Despite having the <em>Skip Tracer</em> for a while, you don’t know much about it. The first thing you would do after collecting Din’s bounty is dropping your ship off at a mechanic and sticking around to figure out more about it. You falter. </p><p>You don’t know why, but the reminder that all Din is is a bounty fills you with some upset despite his scathing remarks. His witty and spitfire attitude was certainly a nice change of pace from the blubbering, begging bounties or the overly-aggressive ones that literally spit at you. But you desperately need the few ingots of beskar promised to you, and with how the ship was malfunctioning, those credits are sorely needed as well. You just need to remind yourself that Din Djarin was just another paycheck. </p><p>Speaking of, you can hear him climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, and you try to busy yourself. The door opens, but you don’t say anything, pressing a few nonsense buttons. Seems like he couldn’t sleep either. Din hovers somewhere behind you, and in the faint reflection of him in the window, you can see he looks unsure of himself. He wants to say something. You let him flounder. Eventually he gathers the courage to say whatever is on his mind.</p><p>“The Death Watch.” </p><p>You suppress the urge to spin around, instead tilting your head for him to elaborate. </p><p>“I… I knew the Death Watch.” You rest your hands on the console board, minding any switches that may drain more power. </p><p>“The Death Watch disbanded years ago. You would’ve been a child if you knew them,” you finally say, keeping your voice as toneless as possible. <em>You</em> were a child when you knew them. But they were no more, split apart and forced underground to continue your way of living. </p><p>“I <em>was </em>a child,” he says. “They helped my village a long time ago.” You wonder for a brief moment if there was a possibility you knew him, even through a few degrees of separation, but you stamp that thought out. There was no time to form attachments or even entertain that thought. “So what do I know about them? That much.” His voice is thought, but can hear an edge of challenge. “You guys were… I looked up to the Mandalorians.” You clench your jaw. </p><p>“What changed?”</p><p>“You.” You laugh bitterly as you finally turn your seat around to face Din where he stands in the doorway, cuffs obediently on his wrists. </p><p>“Sorry for ruining that for you,” you say, so very ingenuously and not at all sorry. You tap your fingers impatiently against your knee. “Did you need something or are you just here to try and make me feel guilty?” Your head hurts just watching how hard Din rolls his eyes. </p><p>“I’m here because I’m hungry,” he says bluntly. You can tell from his tone that this isn’t really the case, but you’re glad for the change in subject. You aren’t exactly the best conversationalist, and neither of you want to argue again it seems like. “And I believe that you’ll carry out your threat if I start snooping around so,” he shrugs his shoulders, “here I am.” You look at him for a little bit, just enough to make him shift where he stands and look uncomfortable. “What?”</p><p>“You would be very bad at sabacc,” you note mildly, ignoring his offended expression as you get up and brush past him to get to the hull to scavenge for something that could be palatable cold. </p><p>“You’ve never seen me play,” Din protests as he scrambles after you down the ladder. You nearly laugh at the indignation in his voice. “So how can you--” His foot slips off the rung, and with his limited movement, he fails to try and catch himself, grip slipping in surprise as he gasps. Luckily, you’re there at the bottom to catch him, hooking your arms under his knees and beneath his shoulders with a soft grunt. </p><p>“Don’t need to,” you say. You lean in a little closer, tilting your head down to make it obvious you were looking straight at him. “You are very easy to read.” He scowls up at you, but you see how his ears turn red. Din is a comfortable weight in your arms, and you think for a second he looks surprised you don’t even look like you’re straining to hold him up. </p><p>“Put me down.”</p><p>“Okay.” </p><p>And you drop him. He blinks up at you with a grimace from where he is on the floor. But Din Djarin cannot stop surprising you because he breaks out in a bright, charming laugh, smile lines forming and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, pulling at the scars on his face, and the warm sound of it fills the ship. It’s a striking difference from the mood just minutes prior, and definitely a difference from a couple hours ago. You can’t help it, but you laugh as well. You gently poke him with the tip of your boot before turning around to pull out rations. </p><p>“Please tell me it isn’t whatever we had yesterday,” Din says from the floor. You toss the packet over to him, landing square on his chest. </p><p>“It’s not. But I doubt it’s much better,” you admit. “Now get up so I can go eat.”</p><p>You’re already in the cockpit and locking the doors behind you when Din calls up to complain that you haven’t unlocked his cuffs. It’s a conscious choice to ignore him.</p><p>---</p><p>It’s been 0900 standard hours since your ship broke down in space somewhere in the Mid Rim, and Din Djarin is starting to go a little stir crazy. </p><p>“Will you stop pacing?” you ask him, annoyed. After your meal, you had stayed up in the cockpit thinking about whether or not you should charge Greef Karga extra to cover the cost of repairs and emotional labor of being trapped with your bounty. Din had quickly grown bored waiting in the hull and made his way into the upper level, knocking incessantly and asking you to open the doors. After a few minutes, you had grown tired of it and opened the doors without warning, resulting in him literally falling in. He seemed to do that a lot, and you wonder how he went this long without somehow falling into a hole or off a cliff and killing himself in the process. </p><p>But Din doesn’t stop pacing, instead he speeds up. Because of the small space, it’s comical how often he has to turn around on his heel to walk in the other direction. The length of his stride means that he only gets a few steps in every rotation. “Has no one picked up our signal?” he asks. You sigh. </p><p>“No. And sit down.” You’re surprised Din hasn’t made himself dizzy. </p><p>“Have you tried--”</p><p>“Anything you’re about to say, yes,” you interrupt. You’ve tried every possible thing to try and extend the signal or just get transmissions going besides actually opening up the ship from the inside. You aren’t that desperate yet. “Din. Sit down.” He, unsurprisingly, doesn’t stop. </p><p>“How long do you think we can stay out here?” You roll your eyes. “Supplies only last so long, and I don’t even know how long the backup power supply will last.” Maker, he’s really working himself up, isn’t he? </p><p>“If we have to worry about supplies, I’ll just put you in carbonite to save us the trouble,” you say bluntly. </p><p>“If you even have the power for it!”</p><p>“I told you, I’ll find a way. Now. Sit. Down.” </p><p>He opens his mouth to say something probably infuriating again, but before he can, you reach forward and grab him by the front of his belt and haul him into your lap. His teeth clack together as he audibly closes his mouth, a flush overtaking his face. Din tries to lean back as far away as he can, but you keep your hands firm on his waist, meaning he has to hold onto the front of your beskar chestplate to keep from falling backwards. It’s a tight fit seeing as you take up most of the seat and Din is by no means a small man, but you look up at him. “People travel all the time through the Mid Rim,” you say slowly, trying to put as much calm as you can knowing that a lot of it will be lost in the modulator. Hopefully it doesn’t come across as condescending.  “Someone will eventually notice that the ship is just drifting here or pick up the signal any time now.” He’s still tense, shoulders nearly at his ears as he stares at you with wide eyes. You reach around his waist to press a button on your vambraces to unlock the cuffs, and you slide it off his wrists and drop it on the floor. His hands immediately go to your shoulders, but he does seem to settle down a little. “So relax.” Din’s grip on your shoulder tighten a fraction. </p><p>“Hard to do that when I-I’m in your lap,” he chokes out. If only he can see your grin. Instead, you bring him closer to you, taking delight in the small squeak he gives. </p><p>“You complaining?” If anything, Din blushes impossibly brighter. </p><p>“I--”</p><p>“Shh, you hear that?” He obediently shuts his mouth and listens for a moment. </p><p>“No?” You lean back in your chair. </p><p>“Exactly. Blessed silence.” Din scrunches up his face. </p><p>“You’re… insufferable,” he announces. You shrug. </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>And now the conversation has lulled, but Din Djarin makes no move to get off your lap. The beskar thigh plates are digging into you, and it surely can’t be a comfortable seat. Still, the two of you stay where you are. Din licks his lips. “You said that you can’t take off your helmet, right?”</p><p>“Not in front of another living being,” you say. </p><p>“When’s the last time anyone saw your face?” he asks. “Has- has anyone seen your face?” There’s an undercurrent of uncharacteristic shyness, almost anxiety as he asks you. You pause. You really shouldn’t entertain your bounty, but--</p><p>“Not since I was a child.” He frowns. “I wasn’t born with a helmet on, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you add.</p><p>“Sounds… lonely,” he says slowly. You shrug. </p><p>“This is the Way.” Why was he even asking about this? If he knew the Death Watch, then surely he must’ve been somewhat familiar with the Ways of the Mandalore. He even had the nerve to chastise you about it. You don’t have to ask him because now his warm hands are trailing from your shoulders closer to your neck, eventually coming to a pause right on the underside of your helmet. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, and Din’s face is the softest you’ve ever seen it. He starts to push it up. </p><p>But your hands leave his hips and snatch his wrists to stop him just as the console beeps. </p><p>“<em>Skip Tracer</em>, this is the <em>Andaloriaan Sea</em>. We read your distress call,” comes the horrifically crackly and barely understandable voice. “Locking you in and taking you to the closest star port. Standby.” You gently pull his hands down, and Din slides off your lap as an unreadable mask slides on his face to hide whatever he’s feeling. He stands in the doorway for a moment, but ultimately turns back around and heads down to the hull without a word. You start to formulate your next plan of action. You would cuff him and keep a close watch on him while the mechanics work on your ship, then fly back to Nevarro to turn Din Djarin in, tell Greef Karga you expect extra for travel fees and repairs, collect your payment, then move on to the next bounty, the next paycheck. You would forget the nearly 1000 standard hours you spent trapped in space with him. </p><p>But things never really go exactly according to plan. </p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After your ship has been fixed, you go to Nevarro to turn captured mercenary Din Djarin in with the intent to move on and forget about those hours trapped in space together. Turning in bounties was a story you were all-too-well accustomed to. No second guessing, no doubts, just move on to the next job, and repeat. </p><p>Shit, how does this story go again?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your glare is piercing under your helmet at Greef Karga slides over a sizable amount of credits towards you, but the look Din Djarin is shooting you through the windows of the cantina as grunts shove him along is straight-up <em>murderous </em>. </p><p>“Good job, Mando,” Karga congratulates. He leans back and sips his drink. “You’ve made many people very happy.” You tuck the credits into your pouch, but not before counting them quickly in your head. When you had contemplated charging Karga more for your services after your ship had broken down, you were serious. You had to haggle, but eventually Karga gave in and gave you 20% more to cover the cost of repairs and extra effort on top of the two ingots of beskar. If you were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have budged, but you’ve been working with the Guild for far too long and have become too valuable. </p><p>“And some unhappy,” you note. </p><p>Those 1000 standard hours up in space seemed like eons ago. Something in your chest is suffocating, making you uncharacteristically anxious as you sit in the booth pushed against the far wall of the cantina. Karga shrugs. </p><p>“Comes with this line of work. You should know more than anyone,” he says. </p><p>You force yourself to be casual. “Of course.” </p><p>“The Drellis Syndicate will no doubt be returning,” Karga says. You tilt your head. </p><p>“They’re the one that called in the bounty?” you say mildly. “What happened to upholding secrecy?” you ask. He huffs, the look on his face that clearly indicates that it was an accident, and you wonder how many drinks he’s had before you arrived. The Drellis Syndicate was a criminal group that was based on Nevarro, avid supporters for Imperials, but a small group. Nonetheless, a pain in the ass. You had no idea how they managed to scrape up the funds to call in someone as lucrative as Din Djarin, but file away the information for later. </p><p>“I trust you, Mando,” Karga says in lieu of an actual explanation, but you know that’s a lie, and that the relationship you two share is a precarious one. </p><p>You wonder briefly if there’s ever a time he would be at the receiving end of your blaster.</p><p>There’s a loud racket that comes from somewhere behind the cantina where you have no doubt it’s Din Djarin stirring up trouble. There’s some shouts, a few pulses of blaster fire, and another loud clank. You hate to admit it, but the muffled <em>crack </em>that your helmet manages to pick up makes your heart stutter and guilt rise up to choke you. </p><p>You clench your hands under the table, scowling as you force yourself to tear your attention away from the thought of Din. He’s a bounty, just like any other, and you’ve gotten paid handsomely because of it. If anything, you should be thanking him, not worrying. “Any other pucks?” you ask Karga. With a nod, he pulls out three more. </p><p>“Not as interesting as the fabled Din Djarin,” he says, “but should be an easy paycheck.” You slide them over to your side of the table, turning them over in your hand. The racket outside has quieted.</p><p>“I’ll take them all.”</p><p>---</p><p>It was standard procedure to return tracking fobs after a bounty was done as a preventative measure. No loose ends. </p><p>You know this. </p><p>And yet, you’re staring at Din Djarin’s tracking fob in your hand. </p><p>As soon as you had gotten the pucks and tracking fobs for the new bounties, you had left the cantina to get to the <em>Skip Tracer </em>, flicking your gaze over to the dark alleyway where they usually took the bounties. There had been a twinge of disappointment when there was no one there, but a stirring of something else, something <em>nasty </em>, when you spot blood on the ferrocrete of the cantina. There was no doubt in your mind that it was Din’s. </p><p>Still, you had headed for your ship, the intent to forget echoing in your head all the way until you’re sitting in your pilot’s chair, and all the way up until you pull out the tracking fob that’s beeping slowly and faintly. </p><p>No matter how insignificant the Drellis Syndicate was in the scheme of all things, if you were to go back and get Din Djarin out of there, people would know. People would <em>talk </em>. </p><p>You aren’t the most inconspicuous person in the galaxy.</p><p>It’s not like bounties have tried to endear themselves to you to get out of their situation before. If they weren’t kicking and screaming or trying to guarantee that “whatever they were paying you, I’ll triple it”, they were making themselves cute or trying to seduce you. They've always been brushed off or gotten stuck in carbonite if they got to be too much. But the thing is, Din didn’t do that. </p><p>He was nasty and spitfire, edges and all, kicking and screaming or trying to piss you off all the way up until the ship had broken down, and even then he had tested your temper with his razor sharp words. He complained about the few mercies you had given him. Made you angry enough that you had to leave before you did anything drastic. You honestly should’ve put him in carbonite the moment he stepped foot onto the <em>Skip Tracer </em>with the reputation he had. But your mind betrays you and flickers back to the moment of him laying on the floor, laughing with a brightness that made you ache after you’ve dropped him unceremoniously on the floor, and then immediately to the comfortable weight of him sitting on your lap, blushing and stammering like a new bride as you rest your hands on his hips. How he had managed to worm his way into your heart, you have no idea. </p><p>What you <em>do </em>know is that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t go get Din Djarin right now. </p><p>You heave a big sigh as you get up and head down to the hull to grab your weapons, tucking the tracking fob away as you fight the logical part of your brain saying that this was a very bad idea. Who knows what the Guild would do? Blacklist you from your only somewhat-steady source of income at best, send other hunters after you at worst. </p><p>Actually, the more you think about it, it seems as though it’d be more appropriate if you switched those two around. </p><p>But you’re strapping on your blasters and checking to make sure your vibroblade is still tucked away in your boot before you leave the ship and throw a few of the credits you’ve just earned at a poor merchant to rent a speederbike before you can second guess yourself. </p><p>It’s a clunky old thing, but it’s faster than walking, and soon enough, you’re going over the lava fields where you know the Drellis Syndicate’s hideout is. The tracking fob blinks faster the closer you get, so at least there’s some hope still that they haven’t taken him off-world or killed him yet. You’re sweltering in your armor, sweat dripping down your face and hair sticking to the back of your neck, but you’ve been through far worse, and will no doubt see worse things still. Especially since you were jeopardizing your entire life going to take back a bounty that was, through the laws of contracts, rightfully the Drellis Syndicate’s. You don’t even know how Din would react, especially after encountering one of the coldest shoulders in your lifetime.</p><p>After the <em>Andaloriaan Sea </em>had dropped you off at the starport to get your ship checked out, he had ceased to talk with you, avoiding eye contact and only speaking when spoken to, and even then he was curt with you. That tenderness and compassion he had shown you while straddling your lap had vanished as if it had never happened. You didn’t press the issue. If you did, it would only prove to him and yourself that the mercenary had somehow gotten into your good graces. You were the damn Mandalorian. No bounty mattered more than yourself, and you proved that when you handed him over to the Guild. </p><p>As if it were really that easy. </p><p>You know it’s not because of who he is, but something had happened on that ship that had caused you to second guess yourself. He was disarmingly charming, that much was true, but whatever facade Din Djarin put up when facing the world was down the moment you pulled him close enough to see the whites of his eyes. </p><p>There’s doubt trailing after you all the way over the burning hot hills and valleys, past the open cracks in the earth where the magma glows bright red, all the way up until you soar over the last hill to speed down, shooting the three guards at the entrance of their building with your blaster before they have time to properly react. You suppress whatever feelings of apprehension or second thoughts that are forming, focusing instead on making sure your aim stays true. Four more grunts swarm out from the entrance in the commotion, scowling and training their blasters on you. You make quick work, shooting the closest one straight through the head and firing your flamethrower to scatter the rest. Grimacing through the added intense heat, you shoot two more through the fire and kick in the knee of the last one charging towards you, grabbing them by the collar and slamming their head against the wall. Now you’re glad you decided to leave your amban rifle on the ship, too large and clunky when speed is your friend here. </p><p>You bend down to pick off a key card from a stray body, scanning it to open the door. Blissfully cool air wafts out, and you carefully make your way in, sticking close to walls with your blaster still in hand. The lighting is a low red, accompanied by a faint alarm buzzing through the hideout. There goes the element of surprise, you think, but actually…</p><p>There’s not a whole lot of guards. Or people. </p><p>As you wind deeper into the bunker, you notice how eerily quiet it is. There’s no gang members rushing at you, nor are there any simply patrolling the halls like you thought there would be. You highly doubt the seven you had taken down at the entrance were all that was left. You don’t think their loyalty runs <em>that </em>deep.  </p><p>Just as you were beginning to think that maybe you should get out before you find out what had wiped out the entire gang, a loud commotion erupts from a room down a hallway tucked away, and it’s then you see a trail of bodies. It’s a messy scene, with the putrid smell of flesh burnt by plasma stinging your nose despite the filtration of your helmet, and you quickly make your way to the door. You shoulder it open, grimacing as you hear the awkward squelch of you pushing past the dead bodies, and spot Din Djarin, teeth bared, blaster-whipping a goon with a sickening crunch. He turns to you, blaster primed, but falters when he spots the familiar gleam of beskar. </p><p>“Mando?” he says, confused, but he’s a welcome sight despite the blood trailing down the side of his head. He’s definitely seen better days, a cut above his brow and his clothes singed or cut through. Din leans heavily on one side, taking in shallow breaths as his brows contort in muffled pain. “What are you--”</p><p>The momentary lapse in attention is all one last member needs before the weapon in Din’s hand is knocked out and a bloodied arm is wrapped around his throat, the muzzle of a blaster pressed against his temple. Golden eyes gleam at you from behind Din. You know him. </p><p>You know him because you brought in his brother Desdre for a small sum a few months ago. And you had brought him in <em>cold </em>. </p><p>There’s a feral look in Pretre’s eyes as he drags Din down, forcing him to bend backwards due to the fact Din has a few inches over him. Your aim falters, but you steel your nerves. Negotiation isn’t your strong suit. You preferred to shoot first, ask questions later, but the safety is off on the blaster next to Din’s temple, and you suspect the blood running through Pretre’s veins are as volatile as his dead brother’s. You open your mouth. </p><p>“I’m--”</p><p>“I know who you are.”</p><p>Makes things a little more complicated. </p><p>“Then you know why I’m here.”</p><p>A tilt of the head. A cloying smirk that makes your stomach roll with nausea. Pretre adjusts his grip on the blaster against Din’s head with an ease that makes anger bubble up in you.</p><p>Pretre gives you a wicked grin. “Why <em>are </em>you here, Mando?” he asks, voice lilting with a sing-songy cadence that would’ve otherwise been pleasant to listen to if it weren’t for the fact that there was poison dripping from his words. “Here to kill me like you killed my brother?” he asks, “or are you here for him?” Pretre tightens his grip, and Din makes a choking sound, hands going up to grip on his forearm. “You know the Guild Code. You took the commission. You accepted the payment. Din Djarin belongs to us,” he says. Then he scowls, marring his handsome face. “Or at least, what’s left of us.” You internally sigh. </p><p>Why were they always keen on monologuing in front of you?</p><p>You shoot out your grappling line, tangling the wire around Din’s ankle, and yank him forward so that he goes down and out of Pretre’s grip with a yelp. The blaster goes off where his head was moments ago and leaves a scuff on the wall, and Pretre shouts a filthy swear at you in Huttese, bringing his blaster to train on you, but you shoot him square through the chest before he can do anything. Soon enough, all is quiet save for Din’s heavy breathing and the steady beeping of the warning alarm in the background. </p><p>“That was anticlimactic,” Din says from his position on the floor after a moment. He sits up and untangles the wire, huffing as he stumbles up and brushes the dirt off of him. You shrug and rewind the wire back into your vambrace. </p><p>“Looks like you took care of most of them before I got here,” you say dryly, holstering your blaster as you go over to help Din stand. He pushes you away with a scowl. </p><p>“Why are you here, Mando, hm?” he asks. “What’s your objective?” Din limps over to Pretre’s body and picks his blaster off the floor. He pats Pretre’s pockets, pulling out a few keycards and stray credits before he moves on to the next body, doing the same, picking around as the light bathes him in a red glow. You grimace. You aren’t much for looting bodies. “You here to turn me in for <em>another </em>bounty? Who is it this time? Another Imperial?”</p><p>“More of a rescue mission,” you say. Din whirls around, pointing a finger at you with brows drawn in anger, and <em>ah </em>, there’s that spitfire you saw back on the <em>Skip Tracer </em>. </p><p>“I had it under control, no thanks to you,” he hisses. You sigh and push his finger out of your face. </p><p>“I don’t doubt that,” you say mildly. “I saw your work out there.” You tilt your head, and you’re glad he can’t see you smile. “I was impressed.” </p><p>“I don’t c-- What?”</p><p>“Impressed,” you repeat slowly. “You do know what that means, right?” An angry flush starts creeping up his neck.</p><p>“Of course I know what it means,” he scoffs, but he puffs out his chest a little, wincing as he does so. “I’m not stupid.” You snort.</p><p>“ <em>That </em>, I do doubt.” You easily sidestep Din’s swipe, chuckling as you do. Din’s scowl falls into a more unreadable expression as he peers at you. </p><p>“What… what made you change your mind?” he asks you, almost reluctantly, as if he forced himself to say it before he second guessed himself. </p><p>“Change my mind about what?”</p><p>“You coming back here,” he says. “That asshole was right,” Din continues, motioning with his head at the body of Pretre lying on the floor. “I know the Guild Codes. What you did--”</p><p>“-- was of my own volition, and you shouldn’t worry about it,” you smoothly interrupt. But uncertainty crawls through your chest at his reminder. You click your tongue and kick away the bodies blocking the door. “C’mon, vulture. Let’s get out of here.” Din furrows his brows. </p><p>“‘Vulture’?” he echoes. You nod. </p><p>“You heard me. We have no time to be picking carcasses,” you tease, but there’s a seriousness in your voice as you open the door and check the hallways for any lingering Syndicate members that might’ve been hiding out. As you do, there’s a thump behind you. You glance over and just barely manage to stifle the laugh that bursts out. </p><p>“Not a word,” Din mumbles. He’s tripped over a dismembered limb and fallen on his ass. He tries to get up, but his leg buckles underneath him and sends him tumbling to the ground for the umpteenth time. You walk over and scoop him up bridal style, shushing him when he tries to protest. </p><p>“Not a word,” you parrot. “It’s faster this way, and you have a habit for falling.” </p><p>You’re trying not worry at how he’s gained a sickly pallor and how you can feel blood soaking your clothes. </p><p>---</p><p>Din Djarin has to continue swallowing his complaints because you’ve only brought one speederbike, and you were not about to carry him all the way back to your ship. </p><p>“How did you expect me to bring two bikes?” you ask him over your shoulder. His arms are wrapped around your midsection, gripping tight as you speed over the lava fields back in the direction you came. Despite the sweat beading at the back of your neck, you find that you don't mind the extra warmth. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he huffs, straining to make his voice heard over the whistling wind. “You’re the fucking Mandalorian; figure it out.” You roll your eyes, and speed up just enough that he yelps and holds you tighter. </p><p>“‘Figure it out’,” you mock under your breath. </p><p>The rest of the trip is silent, or rather you think it is. You don’t know if Din tries saying anything else because the wind picks up, sending gusts of hot wind and filling your helmet with annoying static. </p><p>When you get back to the <em>Skip Tracer </em>on the outskirts of Guild settlement, Din is woozy from his injuries, and you have to carry him back up the ship. There’s no complaints this time, just faint mutters as he fights to keep his eyes open. His armor doesn’t protect much in terms of blaster fire, and Maker knows what beatings he endured in the short span you weren’t there. You lay him down on your cot, taking off his armor and gear and sliding his jacket off. His shirt is torn at the side, revealing a wound that’s been clotted over and the bruising along his ribs. Din definitely looked fine half an hour ago. Looks like his clothes did a good job at hiding it. Now you wonder if his cinnegar weave armor was brown because he dyed it, or the blood has stained it. </p><p>“Shit,” you hiss. </p><p>“This sounds familiar,” Din slurs, letting out laugh that dissolves into airy hacks. “Did-- did the ship break down again?” You ignore him in favor of cutting through his shirt with your blade, smearing a thin layer of bacta gel over the gash on his side and wrapping gauze around his torso. You flick your gaze up to his face, where you frown at how his glazed-over eyes roll back and flutter shut. </p><p>You infer it’s a combination of his injuries and lack of sleep that’s causing him to slowly lose consciousness, but you give him your only e-bacta shot just in case once you figure that none of his bones are broken too badly to warrant a visit to the nearest medical facility. Din makes a confused noise at the slight prick of pain, picking his head up to look at you with hazed eyes. </p><p>“Relax,” you murmur, pushing him back down. “It’s a bacta shot. Heal you up and get you sleeping.” The shot is what pushes him over the edge, his head flopping down as his breathing starts to deepen and even out. You sigh and sit down at the foot of your cot, staring at the blood covering your gloves. You can’t exactly go anywhere right now. Din needed to rest up, and you don’t think he would respond kindly to you taking him anywhere in the galaxy without his knowing. The best place for you to take him would, unfortunately, be the covenant underground, and you couldn’t do that until Din was up and walking around. You had to figure out a plan or a cover story at some point. Your saving grace in this whole mess of a situation was that there were no survivors to tell the tale of you storming into an already-infiltrated base of Imperial sympathizers, giving you a generous buffer of time that was already being eaten away by the ex-bounty sleeping in your cot. </p><p>Ex-bounty. </p><p>You hadn’t just broken the Guild Codes; you had shattered them. </p><p>A heaving, mechanized sigh. </p><p>“Fuck.”</p>
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